


lips like sugar

by havisham



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Backstory, Betrayal, Blow Jobs, Dark Character, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Lord Ruthven falls easily to the dark side, with the help of his silent partner.
Relationships: Lord Ruthven/Adisa (Dracula TV 2020), Lord Ruthven/Dracula (Dracula TV 2020)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK, I'm at the beginning Episode 3 and laughing so hard at the SUN PORN scene, but listen .... Lord Ruthven/Dracula. Canon? I'd say so. But that would be me disagreeing with the author, which I would never do. Dracula only fucks ladies, but his blowjobs are free for everyone. Thanks 4 readin'.

Tom had become Lord Ruthven upon the death of his father, a few weeks after his twenty-first birthday. It would be unseemly to say that he was thrilled, but it was true that he could not quite dredge up the appropriate amount of grief for a man who had squandered a great fortune and left Tom with nothing but a peerage and a mountain of debts. 

He promptly withdrew from university and left to see what could be made of his father’s estate. The only person who accompanied him was Adisa, who had taken his degree the spring before but had not secured any steady employment. That was unfortunate for Adisa, but fortunate for Tom. Adisa was clever, canny, and for reasons that could never be quite understood, he was devotedly in love with Tom. 

Together, they sorted through the late Lord Ruthven’s papers and could find nothing of consequence, save for a letter from a Mr. Balaur, a Romanian businessman of some apparent distinction, who had offered a scheme that would bring untold riches to the dead man. Tom read the letter and then read it again. 

“I should write to this Mr. Balaur and tell him that my father has passed on but I am willing to take him on his generous offer,” Tom said excitedly. He had been moving papers about the whole afternoon and felt as if he was exuding dust. Adisa had come in with a cup of coffee that Tom had commandeered when he wanted to read Mr. Balaur’s letter. 

“It seems too good to be true, this Mr. Balaur and his offer,” Adisa pointed out. “It also presumes you have a ready supply of cash that, unfortunately, you are not able to provide.” 

“Perhaps I will marry, then,” Tom said, observing how Adisa’s face fell. “Come, Adisa. You know I must. Beggars can't be choosers and for all that I stand to inherit, none of it is ready money. I will have to sell this house in order to survive.” 

He made a melancholy survey about the room. His father had been a man from another time, more willing to write fairy-stories than to make money. Tom, when he was a child, had been quite enthralled with such things -- especially the darker tales of witches and ghosts, and things that stubbornly refused to die. 

But no ghost or vampire could make money. 

Tom would have to do that himself -- by marrying. Of course, he could not otherwise find employment. He was a gentleman, after all. 

*

When Tom received a letter back from Mr. Balaur, accepting his proposal, he thought of it as a God-send. As he excitedly explained to Adisa, with Balaur’s help, he would be able to woo Dorabella Sprockett, the baking soda heiress, and marry her, and thus save his finances and enable him to go to America. Adisa, who had never been enthusiastic about Tom’s wish to grace the New World with his presence, began to ask questions that Tom had no answer for. 

“It doesn’t matter what the old boy is asking for,” Tom said breezily. “Once we secure Dorabella’s fortune and are comfortably installed in New York, we can sort it out. Think of it, Adisa -- we would make the most charming triptych possible.” 

“That’s not what a triptych is,” Adisa told him. “And what if the old boy wants something from you? Making it a gruesome foursome instead.” 

“Perhaps Mr. Balaur is handsome,” Tom said. “His letters are very robust and -- _forthright_.” 

“Falling in love with a man through his letters?” Adisa said scornfully. “Are you an old maid, Tom?” 

“I am not usually wooed by words,” Tom admitted. “Actions are more my forte.” 

Adisa swooped in and kissed him, providing him right. 

*

Dorabella was a lovely girl who was entirely naive about the ways of the world. That was just as well -- Tom knew well enough that he could not be equal to a clever wife. Adisa was bad enough. 

Tom, flush with Mr. Balaur’s cash, was able to woo her adequately. He thought she might even love him, which was very flattering. Her family was a little more circumspect, but they could not argue with the elevation of Dorabella Sprockett, baking soda heiress, to Lady Ruthven. The Ruthvens were one of the oldest -- if not the wealthiest -- families of England, after all. 

The three of them honeymooned in Italy and Greece, then moving on to wilder regions of the East. Dorabella said she couldn’t imagine her friends ever finding Romania on a map, even, and Tom laughed at their foolishness. He could not find it either, but Adisa was in charge of their itinerary, so that was all right. 

Soon, they were set to leave Romania, heading back to England on the _Demeter._

“The _Demeter_ , how romantic!” Dorabella said. “Is it one of those new steamships?” 

“No, it is one of the old guard, my dear Persephone -- a sailing ship in these days is quite remarkable. You will be able to tell our grandchildren about how you were aboard one on your honeymoon.” 

“Persephone!” Dorabella said, with a delighted smile. “But you haven’t stolen me away.” 

“I don’t consider myself a Hades either,” Tom confided in her. He gave Adisa a sly glance. “There are others present who would be a better candidate.” 

“Nonsense,” Adisa said, in a voice low enough that only Tom could hear. 

* 

Getting aboard the _Demeter_ seemed to bring a change in both Dorabella and Adisa. Dorabella was not a good sailor -- their crossing over from England to France had been trying experience for all of them, and she had not quite improved for all their traveling the Continent together. She remained below for most of the first day and the second. Tom wondered vaguely if she was already with child -- he hoped not. Children were so expensive and _sticky_. He knew that they would have to be in their future, but surely the future wasn’t _now._

Adisa, on the other hand, was put out at going back to England. More and more, he protested at the notion that he was Tom’s _man_. And it was demeaning, Tom supposed, for an educated man such as Adisa to be always considered a mere valet. But it couldn’t quite be helped -- could it? Tom didn’t know how. 

At least the rest of the passengers were interesting enough. Dr. Sharma was a prig, but Count Dracula was quite interesting. He was dark and handsome, though a little worse for wear. Tom supposed that being a -- where was he from? Transylvania? No, he introduced himself to Duchess Valeria as being from Wallachia, which Tom supposed Adisa would know where that was. It was foreign, anyway. Life was more difficult there than it was in England, to be sure. Even the nobility suffered! 

Tom listened with pricked ears at the conversation between the duchess and the count and was considerably disappointed when they switched over to German. Beastly language, that! Tom didn’t speak it and resented being boxed out. His resentment must’ve shown in his face, for Dr. Sharma gave him a smug smile that seemed to say that he understood them perfectly well. 

The dinner was a failure. When Tom went below, Adisa wouldn’t speak to him and Dorabella was too ill to converse properly. Feeling like the most put-upon man in the world, Tom went to bed. 

*

The journey began to feel like a dream. With the dense fog all around them, time seemed to pass strangely, the difference between night and day only marked by the slight darkening of the filthy air. Dorabella, at least, seemed to have made a full recovery, and when she proposed that they take a walk about deck, Tom graciously let her go by herself. 

“I’m so sorry, darling, I cannot possibly go with you,” he said, pretending to write a letter to Mr. Balaur. “I’ve walked around the deck so often that I despise it now. But for you, some fresh air would do you good.” 

He ignored her disappointed look and she left their cabin. 

Later, he regretted some of his actions. If he had gone with her, would she have been taken? Perhaps they both would have been killed. He knew, vaguely, that he ought to be far more grieved at Dorabella’s apparent death, but -- well, there was nothing he could do about it now. 

*

“Grief is such a singular emotion,” Count Dracula said, his voice like a caress. Tom had sought refuge in his empty cabin, avoiding Adisa as well as he could. If he was with Adisa, Adisa would ask him about Dorabella and that could not be borne. Adisa thought so well of him, despite it all. Tom could not quite understand why he was such an exception to Adisa’s clear-eyed view on the world, but there it was. 

Tom was not quite surprised to find Dracula in his cabin. The man seemed to flit in and out of the shadows with no care to the impossibility of it all. He was no sylph or a ghost, but he could disappear almost at will. Dracula smiled at Tom’s silence. He did not need his audience to speak. 

“Your wife was very lovely, none of us who saw her could doubt your grief for her -- and for yourself, at the loss of your future together.” 

“That’s right,” Tom said, clearing his throat. “I’m very grieved. My father also died quite recently. I’m -- very lonely.” 

“Oh,” Dracula said, pursing his lips a little. His mouth was more red than Tom would consider appropriate for a gentleman, but he could not deny that it certainly worked for him. “Certainly, you are a lonely little boy.” 

“It wasn’t like that -- I loved my father -- I mean, Dorabella,” Tom said as Dracula approached him. He was silenced when Dracula’s shadow fell upon him. There was something cold in the count’s eyes and Tom’s heart stuttered in his chest. 

“Take out your cock,” Dracula said and Tom did it quickly, in case the other man would change his mind. He’d thought he had understood Dracula’s gestures all right -- the eye contact, the hand on the thigh -- but an explicit command was more than welcome. 

His cock was already half-hard and leaking a little. It was still a shock when Dracula went down on his knees and swallowed his cock. Tom nearly shouted before he stuffed his fist into his mouth. The very last thing he needed was to have Adisa burst in, or Dr. Sharma from next door. 

Those lips seemed more unnaturally red than ever and Tom wondered idly if the Count put on a touch of rouge on them beforehand. Those eyes, so black and deep, and the white face and the coal-black hair. He was like a demented Snow-White and Tom almost laughed as he felt Dracula take him deeper as he thrust into that willing mouth. 

It was too much, too deep. Didn’t he need to breath? 

Tom came with an almost sickening rush. Dracula pulled away at last, he gazed up at Tom, his expression unreadable. His mouth was debauched and it would be more than a faux pas to kiss him then, but Tom did it anyway. He tasted his own bitter seed on his tongue, as Dracula’s tongue slid as against his. 

He felt intoxicated, sapped of all his strength. He barely noted it when Dracula took out his handkerchief from Tom’s pocket and spat out the rest of his seed. 

“Aristocrats don’t swallow, I suppose,” Tom said lazily. 

Dracula’s eyes lit up and his mouth creased in amusement. “No. Come is not the life.” 

“I don’t understand you,” Tom said. 

“You’re not supposed to,” Dracula assured him. Now he was up and it seemed that nothing had ever happened. “I think it is time we resolved this mystery on board this ship. Are you not curious about who killed your wife?” 

“O-of course,” Tom said, tucking his cock back into his trousers. “I would kill him myself if I could. I mean, I will.” 

Dracula placed a hand on Tom’s head, a parental gesture that was perhaps meant to comfort but did nothing to calm him. “I’ve learned less from you than I expected… A pity.” 

“I have more,” Tom said quickly as Dracula relinquished his hold. “More to share.” 

“I’m sure,” Dracula said and he smiled. His teeth were far sharper than Tom expected. Those were definitely not gentleman’s teeth -- and yet Tom did not dislike it as much as he expected.

*

“Mr. Balaur,” Tom said, almost to himself before the darkness shuddered and resolved itself into Dracula. “You should have introduced yourself sooner, sir.” 

“Am I still your partner, Tom?” 

Tom was a man of action. He would prove his loyalty to his partner as soon as he could, and reap the rewards he so richly deserved. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 2020 and I'm here with the bonus content. Lord Ruthven consistently not understanding his place in the narrative is [chef hands emoji].

“Now why _does_ little Lord Ruthven know so much about vampires?” Asked an arch voice that slithering into Tom’s ear and seemed to curl around him. 

Tom grinned up at his patron -- no, _his partner_ \-- and said, “My grandfather was once publically satirized as being a vampire -- or a vampyre -- by a jealous friend. Of course, I had to learn what a vampyre was in order to understand the insult. In some circles still, Ruthven is synonymous with vampyre.” 

“But not many,” said Dracula flatly. “And that will change soon enough.” 

If Tom was not completely certain that Dracula’s confidence was infinite, he would have rather thought the man was jealous. After a significant pause, Tom said, “Dracula, I am curious —” He reached out and ran his fingers against the red silk of the inside of Dracula’s cloak. “Why don’t you have a servant? Surely you must dislike dressing alone.”

“I have no objection to finding one. Would you volunteer?”

Tom scoffed. “I’m not qualified for such work, though often Adisa does disdain to button me up sometimes.” 

“And you would disdain to button me up, would you?” said Dracula and Tom’s mouth went dry. 

“No,” Tom said, suddenly uncertain. Would servitude really be so wrong if he was serving Dracula?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Echo & the Bunnymen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hGcJA8fXvU).


End file.
